


Letters From a Grey Warden

by Selkit



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Epistolary, F/M, Letters, Missing Persons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archivist’s note: a selection from correspondence penned by Nathaniel Howe, a Grey Warden who served shortly following the Fifth Blight.  These were discovered among his personal effects following his death, and as such were likely never sent to their intended recipients.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters From a Grey Warden

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the Awakening epilogue in which Velanna disappeared in the Deep Roads while searching for her sister. I consider this fic to be in the same continuity as "A Voice in the Wilderness," but it's not necessary to have read that one first. 
> 
> Many thanks to whyswhoswhats for checking over this for me to make sure I didn't totally butcher Nathaniel's voice!

_Archivist’s note: a selection from correspondence penned by Nathaniel Howe, a Grey Warden who served shortly following the Fifth Blight. These were discovered among his personal effects following his death, and as such were likely never sent to their intended recipients._

Dear Delilah,

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize for its brevity, as my duties leave me with little time to write—far less than I would like. I wanted to let you know that I did receive your last message, and enjoyed it greatly. Your story about the sad fate of your garden reminded me of when we were children and Thomas tried to build a dirt fortress among Adria’s tomato plants. Do you remember? I’m not sure I had ever seen her face so red.

Unfortunately, my primary purpose in writing is to let you know it will likely be some time before I am next able to visit you. I know you invited me to stay with you for a while come Harvestmere, but I fear that may no longer be possible. I am leaving shortly on another expedition into the Deep Roads, and I have no way of knowing how long I may be gone.

I can envision your dismayed expression as you read this—and yes, you’re right, I did just recently return from the Deep Roads. But during that mission, one of our party went missing, and the Commander has authorized an expedition to search for her. 

~~She is someone who means a great deal to me~~

~~She is a valued colleague, and I~~

_(here the page is crumpled as though gripped too tightly)_

As you know, I cannot share the details of Grey Warden missions, but believe me when I say I would not go if it were not of the utmost importance. 

I will write again when I can. Know that you are ever in my thoughts, and give my love to my nephew.

As always, I remain,

Your devoted brother,

Nathaniel

* * *

Velanna,

I confess I feel a bit ridiculous, sitting here and writing a letter you will almost certainly never read. Even ~~if~~ ~~when~~ if you do return, there is nothing I would say to you in writing that I could not simply tell you face to face. But the Commander has temporarily banned me from the archery practice range, as apparently I was going through targets faster than they could be replaced. She suggested I try writing to you instead, as a less destructive method of dealing with my frustrations.

“Frustrations.” As though watching my lover all but vanish before my eyes in a Deep Roads tunnel is a mere inconvenience. 

All my life, I have tried to keep a cool, level head regardless of my circumstances. Even when faced with the destruction of my family’s good name, I kept vengeance as my focus instead of succumbing to despair. And so even now I continue to carry out my duties as though nothing has changed…but in the privacy of pen to paper, I see little point in lying. Since you disappeared, it’s as though I’m stumbling through a thick haze no matter which way I turn. My thoughts are mired in fear, anger, bewilderment, worry—and over all, a helplessness more intense than any I have experienced since I first returned to Ferelden after my father’s disgrace.

~~Velanna, I was never afraid to lose you~~

No, that’s not entirely accurate. Of course I feared losing you, as anyone fears harm coming to those they care about. But in a way, I almost expected it. I was prepared for it. All Grey Wardens know our time is short, and any day could be our last. And even if, by some stroke of fortune, we should both survive the darkspawn and other dangers, I have always known your family and your people come before the Wardens. Before me. 

What I didn’t anticipate was this smothering sense of uncertainty. Because dead is dead, is it not? But the distance between “dead” and “missing” is a gaping chasm, one that creates both dread and hope.

After everything, Velanna, I am not sure if I have room enough for hope. 

Nathaniel

* * *

Dear Velanna,

Close to a week of searching the Deep Roads, and we found nothing. No elf bodies, no scraps of fabric or pieces of armor, no footsteps not made by darkspawn. Not even a single strand of blonde hair. I searched until my fingers were numb and my vision blurred, used every hunting and scouting trick I ever learned, and then some.

Nothing.

If I hadn’t known you were there, if I hadn’t seen you running down that tunnel with my own eyes, I would wonder if it was all some strange hallucination. 

Now I’m left with only more questions, each more troubling than the last. What in the Maker’s name possessed you to run off like that? I heard you call out for your sister, but…Velanna, it’s been years. We talked about this, more than once. Even if she still lives, it can’t possibly be _her_ , not anymore. I know all too well how quickly the corruption takes hold.

Which begs the question: if it wasn’t Seranni you saw, who—or what—was it? Why can we find no trace of anything out of the ordinary? And if…if you were taken, what could have snatched you up so quickly, so thoroughly, as though you’d vanished through the Veil itself? The Architect? More darkspawn? 

Though I don’t want to consider it, I can’t help but think…

I know you can “disappear,” when you wish. I don’t understand how your magic works, but I still vividly remember seeing you for the first time in the Wending Wood. I remember watching as the tree roots enveloped you, and when they vanished, you were gone along with them. 

And so I wonder: is it possible you engineered your own disappearance?

Part of me dismisses the notion out of hand. Not because I doubt that you could ever want to leave, but because the deception would be so unlike you. You’re nothing if not honest—brutally, at times. It’s one of the things I love about you, even if it can also be rather thoroughly exasperating. 

Furthermore…you gave no signs, no hints of wanting to leave. It took a long time, I know, and a great deal of effort from both of us, but we’d come to a good place. I know you; I know how stubborn you are. Why would you pick up and leave everything behind when you—when both of us—had spent so much time making it work?

And yet the doubts won’t go away, always lingering there in the back of my mind.

Velanna, I don’t know what to think.

* * *

Velanna,

You’ve been ~~gone~~ missing for two months, now. 

The other Wardens don’t come right out and say it, at least not to my face, but I know they’ve given you up for dead. And why shouldn’t they? The darkspawn can sense us just as well as we sense them, after all. How could one lone Warden, even a mage, survive on her own in the Deep Roads for two months? And if you’re no longer in the Deep Roads, if you found your way out somehow, why have you not returned to the Keep?

The questions still haunt me, day and night. I suspect they will until you return, or I learn of your fate. Or until I die, whichever comes first.

When I’m tempted to despair, I think of Delilah, and how I had written her off for dead—not even questioning if there was a chance she might have survived—only to find that I was wrong. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice, yet I know the odds of not one, but two miraculous survivals are slim indeed.

I’ve never been one for praying to the Maker (and I know you would scoff at me if I did), but I find myself praying now. I have little other recourse left. 

I remain,

Your insufferable human,

Nathaniel

* * *

Dear Velanna,

I suppose it matters little now, but I have a small confession to make. No, it’s nothing serious. If you were here now, in front of me, I would reach out and smooth away those suspicious lines between your brows.

Do you remember in the mornings, when you would wake up before me, before the sun would even rise? Sometimes, I was only pretending to be asleep. I’m well practiced in feigning slumber, keeping my face relaxed, my breathing slow. It came in handy at times, back in the Free Marches. 

I know about your morning ritual, the last thing you would do before you left the room. You would lean over me and brush the hair off my face, press your lips to my forehead and whisper something in your ancestors’ old language. To this day I don’t know what it was.

I never stirred, never let you know I was awake. I always let you slip away. 

Sometimes now, in the black hours when your absence or the nightmares keep me awake, I remember that little ritual. I know I gain nothing by pining over things that can’t be changed, but even so…in those moments of weakness, I wish I had opened my eyes, even just once. I wish I had pulled you back down to the bed, convinced you to stay a little longer. I wish I had asked you what those Elvhen words meant. 

You wouldn’t have told me, of course. But I could have at least asked. 

I still remain,

Your devoted human,

Nathaniel

* * *

Velanna,

Where _are_ you? 

Nathaniel

* * *

_(Archivist’s note: here the handwriting is little more than a scrawl, and the paper is blotched with brown stains.)_

Velanna,

You ought to be impressed with me, you know. Very impressed.

It’s been a year to the day since you disappeared, and I’ve had quite a lot to drink tonight. Perhaps a bit too much. It’s difficult to tell. 

Did you know they held a service for you? I was there, although I didn’t want to be. Going to your memorial felt too much like finally giving up. Admitting you’re never coming back. But I couldn’t very well not go, could I? I was ~~the one sharing your bed~~ one of the only people in the Keep who could actually tolerate you, after all.

Still, it was a lovely service. They planted a tree in the courtyard, in your people’s tradition, and the Commander said some nice words about you. I might have said some things as well. I can’t quite remember at the moment. 

Anyway. Do you know why you should be impressed? Because I have that journal of yours sitting right out here on the table in front of me. That one the Commander gave you, with the tree on the cover, the one you were so keen to fill with stories and yet left behind in your mad rush into the Deep Roads. I’ve kept it all this time, in the chest with the rest of your belongings, and I’ve never once looked inside. Not once this whole year you’ve been gone.

I know you didn’t use this solely for Dalish stories. You wrote about me as well, didn’t you? Sometimes in the evenings when you would write, I would glance up and catch you looking at me. And then you would mutter and scowl and pretend you were staring out the window instead, but I saw the tips of your ears turn pink. (Did you really think I didn’t notice? I know you better than you think.)

I haven’t read it because I wanted to respect your privacy. I wanted to keep it safe for you, for when you came back. But you aren’t coming back, are you? I don’t know where you’ve gone, but wherever it is, you seem _quite_ content to stay there. So maybe I ought to open this journal up tonight, and read everything you had to say. Cover to cover.

But first, it seems I need another drink. When I close my eyes I still see you running away from me, disappearing in that dark tunnel. I don’t think I’ve had quite enough yet after all.

I remain, for all the good it’s done me,

Your ever-respectful human,

Nathaniel

* * *

Dear Delilah,

I’m very sorry that I’ve worried you, and that I haven’t responded to your last three letters. I did receive and read all of them, and I do very much want to visit you soon. My duties continue to leave me inadequate time to write a proper reply, but rest assured I did not intend to give you cause to fret, and ~~I am quite well.~~

~~I am not entirely well.~~

I

_(here several lines are crossed out with thick black strokes)_

Damn it to the Void.

* * *

Dear Velanna,

I returned today from another expedition into the Deep Roads. In most ways it was the same as all the others before it. Dank tunnels, thin air, waves upon waves of darkspawn. 

One thing, however, was different. 

We found ourselves killing an unusually large number of shrieks. Shrieks, they say, are the darkspawn born of broodmothers who were once elves (how “they” know this, I am not certain, but I have no particular reason to doubt them). At first we thought nothing of it, but the further we ventured into the tunnels, the more shrieks attacked us. Eventually we came upon the broodmother herself. 

Velanna…I don’t think I can put into words everything that went through my head in that moment. You know I’ve never been the most expressive of people even in the best of times. But I remember, in that moment, everything crystallized. I stopped hearing the other Wardens’ voices and footsteps; I stopped feeling the choked atmosphere of the tunnels. For the briefest moment, I was even able to ignore the taint, or at least push it to the back of my mind. 

All I knew, with absolute certainty, was that broodmother would never create another shriek. Not one more.

(The Wardens who were with me said my face was almost terrible to witness. They told me I went pale as a corpse, and then my eyes turned dark with fury. For a moment, a few of them said, they half-wondered if I had been possessed by a demon.) 

It took everything we had—all our strength, our tactics, all the arrows in my quiver—to take ~~her~~ it down. Afterward…I don’t remember much, I confess, except for the dark, heavy exhaustion that settled over me. 

Velanna, if that was you or Seranni…

I’ve been trying not to think of it, but the possibility is difficult to ignore. I keep praying that it wasn’t, that you’re safe somewhere, alive and whole.

But if it was, I hope wherever you are now, you’re no longer suffering. I hope you’re at peace. 

It’s little comfort, but it’s all I have.

Nathaniel

* * *

Dear Velanna,

I went to visit your tree in the courtyard today, for the first time in…well. It’s been quite a long time. But the tree has grown very well. It’s tall now, slender, but strong. I’ve never been one to ascribe characteristics to inanimate objects, but Sigrun says it looks stubborn and proud, just like you ~~are~~ ~~were~~

I confess, I haven’t been the one to tend it. I asked Samuel (my father’s old groundskeeper) to look after it, and he’s done a fine job. I simply…wasn’t ready. And to be honest, I don’t know much about trees anyway. But you already know that.

Do you know I still have that old stone chest of yours in our room? Everything is still inside, just the way you left it. All your keepsakes and books and pieces of Elvhen history, and your journal as well. (You should know I didn’t read it, that night, on the one-year anniversary of your disappearance. Yes, I said I was going to, but…somehow I couldn’t make myself do it.)

The Commander asked me the other day—in that direct yet kind manner she has—if I would like her to take the chest away, store it in the attic with all my family’s old belongings that outlived their welcome when the Wardens took over. I think she’s worried about me, afraid I’m clinging to hopeless remnants of the past instead of focusing on the here and now. 

~~Perhaps she’s right~~

Still, I told her no. Not quite yet. But perhaps…in a little while. Perhaps. 

There have been rumors, lately, of a Dalish clan camped not far from here. I know the Commander is on good terms with the Dalish, and I think I might ask her if it would be possible to arrange a meeting with them, so I can give them your journal. Or try to. I don’t know if they would accept such a thing from a human, but I want to at least make the offer.

In a way, I’m not ready to part with it, just as I’m not ready to see the rest of your belongings stashed in the attic to gather dust and cobwebs. How does one simply close the door and move on, when so many questions still lie unanswered, when every time I wake up from my nightmares I still expect to see you there next to me?

(I still remember your expression on all those nights, half concerned and half annoyed that I’d awakened you with my thrashing. Not that you didn’t return the favor on many occasions, my lady.) 

And yet, I know giving your journal to your people is the right thing to do. I know it’s what you would want. 

Even so, the last time I was at the marketplace, I visited a stand selling blank journals. One of them in particular caught my eye: bound in green-tinted leather, embossed with a tree on the front, much like the one the Commander gave you. Some of the pages are pressed with tiny leaves and flowers. 

Perhaps it was nothing more than a foolish impulse, but I bought it anyway. It’s on the nightstand next to your side of the bed, ready and waiting. After all, if I give your journal to the Dalish, I don’t want you to be without another book to write in. Just in case…just in case you do return. Someday.

_(here several lines are scratched out and illegible)_

I still miss you.

As always, Velanna, I remain,

Your insufferable human,

Nathaniel


End file.
